


uncertain, texas

by weefaol



Series: fifty states [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Dean Winchester, Date Rape, Dean's Teachings, Dirty Talk, First Time, Gang Rape, Masturbation, Multi, Out of Character, Praise Kink, Pre-Slash, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Sam Winchester, Voyeurism, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: Sam knows it's wrong. Doesn't change the fact that he likes to watch.Tonight, amidst the muddy waters of Uncertain, Dean invites a reluctant Sam to join in on his fucked up fantasy.





	uncertain, texas

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic features an intoxicated Dean Winchester (19) raping an unconscious girl (~16) while Sam (15) watches. Later, Sam participates in the rape. (No actual sex between Sam and Dean takes place.)
> 
> Please do not read if you are sensitive to these subjects. Not for everyone.

It’s 3am in the northeast corner of Harrison County and the _creeeak_ of motel bedsprings itches deep in Sam’s ear. He ignores it at first, too tired from navigating the second day at his next-in-line high school to flutter his eyes open. It's his fault, really. He pulled an all-nighter two evenings prior to study for a freshman geography test that could make or break his scattershot, interstate grades. Got the shakes from too many of Dean’s caffeine pills but he thinks he may have aced it, if Mrs. Whatshername could make out his chicken scratch.

Tonight, he tried to go to bed early. He really tried. But it’s impossible to slip into a peaceful slumber on the best of nights, let alone when Dean’s out on a hunt. And with Dad fucked off to fight vamps in some town on the Louisiana side of the Cypress Bayou, Sam’s left bored and brackish in a watershed motel on the swamp’s edge of Uncertain.

Three-day old Dad voice echoes in his ear. “You can deal with a Lechuza on your own, can’t ya?”

He hadn’t _really_ been asking. Dad never really asks him or Dean anything. Besides, he'd already been two steps out the door, shotgun hitched over his shoulder, when Dean'd replied, “Yessir,” like a child soldier.

Winchester nineteen feels like pushing middle age.

Hunter boys grow up too fast.

Under the almighty father's command, Dean had tasked Sam with a firm _stay here_ and left to deal with the Lechuza Owl Witch. It’s _routine_ , he’d said, an echo of Dad. And Sam had scratched at his fingernails, watching the Impala get smaller and smaller in the distance.

Every hunt is _routine._

That is, until someone hauls his ass back to the Caddo Lake Lodge at half-past midnight, eyebrow bleeding and a petrified girl about Sam’s age in tow.

Head down, Dean ushers her into the bathroom for a hot shower before the sticky witch feathers get crusted on.

“Who is she?” yawns Sam as he dabs at the cut above Dean’s eye with antiseptic. As the shower runs, he starts on a sleepy butterfly stitch.

“Dumb bitch got tangled up with the Lechuza,” says Dean, hissing as Sam pokes the needle through. “Walked right into its nest.”

“She’s just a girl,” hums Sam, giving their captive the benefit of the doubt. She’s young, impressionable, easy to manipulate. Dropped right onto Dean’s doorstep like destiny. Sam pulls thread through the bloody gash, patching it up as best he can on two hours half-sleep.

“Ow _, fuck._ Hand me that bottle, will ya?”

Sam sighs and leans over to grab the half-full bottle of Old Crow Reserve.

He hates when Dean drinks Kentucky Straight.

He’s been doing a lot more of it lately.

~~~

A quarter to three in the morning and Sam’s drifting in and out of slumber cycles. It’s difficult to get proper shut-eye when drunk girl titters and Dean-innuendos are making his eardrums prickle.

“Come on, one more shot…”

A gush and a giggle. “N-no. Ha, I’m t-too… I’ve never been this —”

“Bullshit, you’re fine. One more.”

A sigh and a snicker, slur-swallow and clink of shot glass on wood. The poor girl is way past drunk and well into a blackout. No one on the planet can keep up with Dean. The room stinks of rotgut uncertainty.

 _SLAP_. Calloused hand on milk-white thigh.

“ _Ow!_ ” she slurs, frowning as Dean skin-kneads a pink hunter’s handprint.

Sam can hear him smirk.

“You like it.” He pulls the groggy girl to her feet. “Come on… let’s get you to bed.”

Stumble. Falter. “Wait, where’m I —“

“ _There_ ,” says Dean, rough and ready. Shoves her onto the empty motel bed like a rag doll, a black glint in his eye. “You’re bunking with me tonight, sweetheart.”

Sour mash clouds the sweetest of hearts.

Sam knows this all too well.

~~~

The clock radio on Sam’s bedside table clicks to 3:00 AM when Dean emerges from the motel bathroom, scoured of dried witch guts and drained of whiskey-piss. The room is still, save for a soft trio of shallow breaths. There’s a warm body on the bed. Sam’s ears perk up as brother footsteps creep over, mattress creaking as Dean knee-presses onto it, hovering over the inanimate corpus.

“You passed out, baby?” he hushes, sweet, soothing. Cradles her jaw between his thumb and fingers, giving it a little squeeze. When she doesn’t respond, Sam swears he can hear him grin. “Good.”

Little brothers do well to keep their eyes shut. It’s a lesson Sam’s learned over the years.

Because he knows what’s coming. He’s seen it time and again.

The way Dean gets 'em all liquored up and drugged out so they don’t put up a fight. So it’s _easy_ for him. Peels their worn-wear off, piece by piece, until they’re lying there, naked and nailed down. Slicked up for a slip-in.

And, tonight, as Sam squints to watch the witch-girl get stripped, his belly roils, because he’s been here before. It’s not the first time Sam’s studied anatomy through thin sheets and one-eyed slits, dick in his hand and bad thoughts in his brain. He starts to sweat and swelter because,  _by god_ , he’s sick too, just like Dean. Because the thought of his brother entering her, sinking and rutting into warm flesh, makes Sam’s cock hard and his heart race.

Rotten apples don’t fall far from family trees.

Tonight’s a particular thrill — Dean takes his time. Pulls at the zipper of her cut-off jeans, tooth by tooth, shimmies them down her skinny legs. Fingers around silk-smooth inner thighs, shuddering as he breathes in cunt musk. Peels back those pink wet-patch panties and licks a line from her slit to her clit. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t moan. Doesn’t register anything except the booze blackout.

That’s the best part, Sam mulls over in shame — she’ll have no idea she’s been _taken_ until she wakes up; until she feels the Dean-sized bruise on her insides. Just the thought of it makes his teenaged cock twitch, a blurt of pre-cum slicking where his hand grips. Whimper-quiet under the covers.

Dean grunts as he shifts gears from sugar-sweet to rabid, tugs her body down the bed and folds her legs up until she’s aligned — primed for penetration. With a cock like his, heavy and honeydripping, there’s no question she’d crave the ache if she were conscious. And, like parasitic twins, both brothers shudder with anticipation before Dean finally pushes in, trembling and shaking with statutory frenzy. Ruts in slow, _deep_ , dissolving into that feeling — the velvet encapsulation, the power-hungry rush that comes with just _taking_ it. No foreplay, no condom. Just oblivion bliss.

“Good girl,” Dean grunts, bucking into her warm body like she was bred for him. Like she was always _his_ and nothing was ever gonna stop it. The perfect pussy playtoy — probably a virgin too.

The thought of it makes Sam’s dick ache.

In the helldark, he watches wide-eyed as his big brother fucks into the poor girl, making her B-cup tits jiggle and the mattress groan. And, Dean, in true tutor fashion, ramps up his thrusts when he hears Sammy stirring in the bed next door, like he already knows little brother's nursing a hard-on under the sheets. Smirks at the way Sam strokes his ego.

“You like her, Sammy?”

Sam’s hand stills. He squeezes the root of it to stop himself from spilling over. Dean’s never spoken to him like this, not while he was in the middle of —

“Think she likes you, little brother.”

Sam exhales. Heady, slap-happy.

Big brother grins, catching Sam’s eye mid-rut. “Wanna give her a go?”

“Uh, I - I’m not… I —“

“I think you do,” he grunts as he pulls out and flips her over, face down, ass up. Grins at Sam as he palms his own wet cock, slick with pussy-juice. “Here”—he slides himself between her ass-cheeks, pressing at her second hole—“m’gonna come in her ass. Leave the pussy for ya.” A grunt and a moan and he shoves himself into even tighter pink, shuddering “ _Ohhh fuck…”_ as he grabs two handfuls of ass and starts thrusting again. “Your first time should be in a pussy, Sammy…”

Sam’s heart beats a mile a minute and he’s gonna have finger-bruises on his dickroot tomorrow from squeezing too hard. Because Dean’s gonna… Dean’s gonna let him…

“ _Unngh_ , Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m gonna —” Dean slaps her ass _hard_ , leaving a rose-red handprint that should've woken her up (but doesn’t) and lets out a low caterwaul as he comes, colouring her insides cream-white.

There’s blood in Sam’s mouth from biting his lip to shreds, because there’s no better sound in the world than the agonized groan of Dean losing control like this. Of breeding sleeping beauty with made-wrong Winchester seeds.

After a moment, Dean pulls out, cock spent and leaving a drip stain. With effort, he rolls the girl over again till she’s star-fished on the bed, boneless and limber. Raises an eyebrow at his little brother, “You gonna chicken out on me, Sammy?”

Sam swallows, belly lurching, frogs in his throat. He’s nervous, but there’s no way in hell he’s gonna pass up the opportunity to prove himself to Dean. So, muscles trembling, he slides out of bed in boxer shorts and crawls onto the neighbouring mattress. Dean shifts, laying along the girl’s side as Sam hovers over top of them both. There are two heads on the pillow, but the only eyes that lock onto his are blazing green.

“First get your dick hard,” coaches Dean, twisting till he’s on his back, wriggles an arm under the girl’s neck and hugs her around the shoulder. The smell of it—their shared juices—nearly makes Sam’s head explode. He shudders and takes his own cock in his hand, fisting it a few times to fight the jitters — to coax himself back to teenaged thickness and past the alarm bells in his brain blaring _this is wrong_ , _I shouldn’t_ , _she’s not okay_ …

But then Dean hushes, “Good boy,” and Sam knows he’s not gonna stop.

Not tonight. Not ever.

Dean’s eyes are half-lidded, punch-drunk, as he watches little brother work himself up to this — following right along where Dean had been moments ago, just like he’s been doing his whole life. “Now bend her legs so you can line yourself up just right.”

Sam’s heart thumps and whomps and nearly breaks through his ribcage. Hands tremble as he moves girlish leg-limbs, bends ‘em at the knees and shimmies up till his never-touched cock bobs in the little space between virginity and not.

Dean props up on his elbow, head brushing against the hand-me-down _Poison_ tee clinging to Sam’s chest. “Fuck _…_ ” he hums, craning his neck to get a better look. “That _pussy_. Feels so good when they’re all tight and pink like that.” Gazes up at Sam like he’s headsick too. Dizzy, double-whammied.

And unless Sam is daydreaming again (he probably is, it's too good to be true), Dean looks so goddamn _kissable_ , lips glistening with cuntslick, the scent of honeywater on his tongue.

Dean blinks, slow, lashes batting. “You gonna fuck her, Sammy?”

The rot of uncertainty hangs in the air like swamp-musk.

Sam can never say _no_ to Dean.

So he lines himself up, leans over the girl like Dean leans his head on her shoulder. Trembles as he touches cockhead to pussy-lips, silky smooth and puckered from where Dean’d warmed her up. Makes sure he catches emerald green eyes before, at last, he pushes in, sliding up hot velvet and knowing instantly he’s only got one or two good thrusts in him until his virgin dick blows.

“ _Uhhh, oh god, oh god…”_ Moans like a bitch in heat as he sinks all the way in, balls deep. Sees Dean’s cock twitch from the corner of his eye.

“Gonna come quick, Sammy,” says Dean, low and gentle. “No shame in it. But give ‘er a couple good ones first.”

Sam nods, head swirling with _tight fuck hot wet slip slide rut_. He desperate-stares into Dean’s lust eyes and bucks his hips: _once, twice, three times, f-four,_ and _oh god, Deeean._

He comes too quick, too messy, but Dean clings to him through it all — grabs a fistful of Sam’s bedhead and tugs him down till he’s collapsed on top of her body, breathing euphoria onto her shoulder.

Sam's first time.

And Dean’s there too, like a promise — lips inches from his own, running fingers through his hair, thumbing along his rosy cheek-flush.

Together in tangled weeds, murky like brack-water.

Swamped and snakebit on the Cypress Bayou.

**Author's Note:**

> find more of my wolfy tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/) <3


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